Behind her sat other familiar figures, although they were barely recognizable this evening: first the Skeleton, who had tried unsuccessfully to plump herself up with shoulder pads and other devices; Old Ma Crackpot, breasts swelling like mortar shells under a bottle-green outfit; Miss Mersch in her wheelchair, made up like a birthday cake and clutching a sparkly black evening bag in her white-gloved hands; and finally Miss Zesch as Helen had seen her emerge from her cubicle, but now further adorned by an improbable little yellow hat. Standing on his own near the buffet, the Skunk was fiddling with his cap while eyeing the wine carafes.
Helen almost burst out laughing. Then some men she didn’t know took their seats on the right of the aisle. Helen straightened up in astonishment. “Is this some kind of a fashion parade?”
“No, it’s the annual assembly of the staff of both boarding schools.”
“What sort of assembly? And how do you know all this?”
She had to wait a little longer. Fascinated by the spectacle below them, Milos was taking it all in. Sometimes he shook with silent, suppressed laughter. After a few minutes, he propped himself on his elbows and looked at Helen. The light coming up through the gap he had made in the loft floor faintly illuminated their hands and faces.
“Listen, Helen,” Milos whispered. “No other student at either school has ever seen what we’re seeing now. When I told you to go first, it was a historic privilege! Did you recognize the staff of your school?”
“Yes, they’re all there. And they’re all dressed up! Anyone would think they were crazy.”
“They are crazy. And the men are the staff of my school. Mad too in their own way.”
“Milos, you’re scaring me . . . and anyway, what are they all doing here together?”
“I told you: it’s their annual assembly, and it’s super-secret. They’re getting together to welcome a man called Van Vlyck. He’s a leading figure in the Phalange, one of its top security bosses, and in particular he’s in charge of boarding schools like ours. Apparently they’re all scared stiff of him. We’ll see.”
Alarmed, Helen lowered her voice even further. “What if they catch us? You said this was supersecret. You could have warned me!”
“They won’t catch us. No one ever catches me.”
“So why wouldn’t they catch you sometime in the future?”
“Because I’m lucky, see? Always have been.”
“Lucky? You expect me to be satisfied with that?”
“Yes, I do!”
Helen wanted to lose her temper with Milos, but somehow she couldn’t manage it. There was such confidence in his smile that she found herself believing what he said without the slightest doubt: no, they’d never be caught.
“Milos, you said boarding schools like ours. Meaning what?”
“Oh, there’s too much to explain all at once, Helen! I’ll tell you about it all later. That’s a promise.”
“OK, so why is this man Van Vlyck coming here?”
“To see if everything’s in order, I imagine. Checking up to make sure his lunatics are as crazy as ever. Wait a minute! Something seems to be happening down there. Your turn to have a look, and remember everything you see!”
Helen took up her observation post again. The men and women down below had risen to their feet to applaud the energetic entrance of a powerful man with a red beard, in a sheepskin-lined jacket so worn that it was shiny at the elbows. He certainly hadn’t gone to the trouble of putting on evening dress, and his muddy boots could have done with a good polishing. Two men, apparently under his orders, followed close behind him. He made straight for the platform, sat down on a chair, which disappeared under his large posterior, and didn’t even take off his jacket. Evidently he didn’t intend to stay long. With a gesture, he invited the Tank and a man who must be headmaster of the boys’ school to come and sit on either side of him. The Tank was preening like a fat goose as she joined him on the platform. The headmaster, with a flower in his button hole, looked equally proud. The newcomer’s two henchmen stationed themselves at the door and never moved from the spot.
“Ladies and gentleman, my dear colleagues . . .” There was total silence as Van Vlyck addressed them. His blazing eyes swept over the audience. “My dear colleagues, here we are again. As you know, I really enjoy these nocturnal meetings. They give us all a chance to get together every year, and . . .”
“Can you hear all right?” asked Helen, who was in the best position.
“Not great,” Milos admitted.
“Come on, if we shove up a bit . . .” She moved a little way until they were lying side by side, almost cheek to cheek. “Better?” whispered Helen.
“Perfect,” Milos replied.
“As tradition demands,” Van Vlyck went on, “we’ll begin by reviewing the months that have passed since my last visit. Let’s start with the girls’ school. It is my pleasure to convey the congratulations of the Phalange to the headmistress for the firm and rigorous hand with which she runs the establishment. She is confirmed in her post.”
The Tank murmured bashful thanks, but Van Vlyck gave her no time to luxuriate in these compliments.
“Congratulations also to the supervisory staff, in particular Miss Zesch and Miss Merlute, for their conscientious devotion to duty. Congratulations to Miss Mersch, the mathematics teacher, whose exemplary commitment . . .”
As these commendations were handed out, heads turned to those who were fortunate enough to have earned them and were practically swooning with self-satisfaction. Other staff members tried to smile, but jealousy distorted their faces. The Skeleton in particular tightened her lips and craned her scrawny chickenlike neck.
After dealing with the girls’ boarding school, Van Vlyck went on to take stock of the boys’ school just as rapidly and with the same indifference. Then he suddenly raised his voice.
“We are fighting a hard battle, my dear colleagues. A battle that calls for perseverance and determination. I want you all to know that you are supported in your efforts by the Phalange, which I have the honor of representing here. But I also want you to know that the slightest weakness on your part will be severely punished. For instance, as I am sure you are well aware, we regard allowing letters to pass into or out of the schools as a major misdemeanor . . .”
At the back of the hall, the Skunk made a face and kept his eyes on the toes of his shoes for the rest of the speech.
“Let me repeat this,” continued Van Vlyck. “If you ever doubt yourselves, if at any time you find yourselves beginning to feel some compassion for one of your charges, remember: these people are not like us!”
He emphasized this remark by tapping the table with his forefinger, and then went on, pale with anger.
“Secretly, these people despise you, and you must never forget it!”
“These people?” whispered Helen. “Who’s he talking about?”
“You and me,” Milos whispered back. “Listen . . .”
“They are a threat to our society, just as their parents were.”
Helen was trembling. “What’s he saying? Our parents? Milos, what does this mean?”
Milos moved a little closer still to her. “Shh. Hear him out.”
“We offer them the chance of reeducation in the establishments into which we have generously received them,” Van Vlyck was going on. “Our essential mission is to keep the bad seed from germinating. We must crush it underfoot, showing no pity. The rules are there to guide you in your task. They are not complicated; observe them and you will be safe. Forget them and the retribution will be severe. Finally, let me tell you, face-to-face, that the Phalange will tolerate no treachery.”
Having delivered these threats, Van Vlyck jutted out his powerful jaw, while an uneasy silence fell over his audience.